e form of blame, mix with the malice that hemmed him
in on all sides; and whether he did not think it well to make use of
this means, as of a shield, to ward off their blows? This sort of
generous artifice, which I more than once suspected in him, may serve as
long as public favor lasts; but when persecution gets the upper
hand,--which is the case sooner or later with all greatness and all
virtues--when Envy triumphs by means of calumny, she converts into
poison, benefits, virtues, gratitude. Thus, if our hypothesis be
correct, Lord Byron would have been cruelly punished for his weakness in
allowing that to be believed of him which was not true. Still, all we
have observed can only furnish, at best, the secondary and evanescent
causes of the moral phenomenon described, and those who would fain
penetrate the recesses of Lord Byron's soul must search deeper for
explanation. Our idea is, the first cause will be found to lie in some
sentiment that reigned all powerful in his breast. I mean that he placed
_his ideal standard too high_, and the influence it exercised over him
was manifest _even to his last moments_.

In the severe judgments which he has pronounced upon himself in the
first place, on mankind in general, and on some particular individuals,
the ideal model of all the intellectual, moral, and physical beauty
which he found in the depth of his own mind, shone with divine lustre
before his imagination, by the union of faculties imbued with
extraordinary energy.

We see, by a thousand traits, that his ideal was formed much earlier
than is common with ordinary children. In his first youthful poems it
already displayed itself much developed. Ever attracted toward truth,
his first desire was to seek after that; and the better to do so, he
searched into himself, analyzed what was passing within and without, and
finally proclaimed it without any consideration for himself or others.

At Harrow we see him leaving off play to go and sit down alone and
meditate on the stone now called _Byron's tomb_.

At Cambridge afterward, despite the dissipation he shared equally with
his comrades, amid games and exercises in which he greatly excelled, we
still find him courting meditation under shady trees. On returning to
his home, the Abbey, when surrounded with the noise and frolic of
boisterous companions, we see him devote himself to study and solitary
reflection; finally, during his travels, and after his return, when all
Engla